


Angharad's Journal

by ahimsabitches



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5536160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angharad keeps a journal.</p>
<p>This is a Mad Max Secret Santa gift for @ourfuriosa on Tumblr. Merry Christmas! I hope you like it, dear!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angharad's Journal

Day 365:

Miss Giddy says people in the Old World would measure time in years.  A year is 365 days. That’s how long it takes the earth to travel in a circle around the sun. How arbitrary. I suppose it’s fitting that on my first anniversary of being in this horrible place, I get a new sister. The Old Smeg says her name is Capable. I wonder why he chose that name. She is quiet and still. Her shoulders hunch in a little bit. I’ve never seen hair as red as hers. When she moves the sunlight dances in it. She has bruises. Or dirt. I can’t tell which they are, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll fade from her skin, but they won’t be gone. They’ll just soak into her and turn her that ugly brown-purple color inside. They’ll turn her into a giant dirty bruise inside, like we all are. I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t look at me. Her hair shines more than her eyes do.

            I learned about Lilith today. She was the first daughter of a god. Since she wanted to be equal to her husband and would not submit to him, they made her into a demon. She did as she pleased, and the men tried to ruin her. Things haven’t changed. I don’t think they ever will.

 

Day 368:

Capable finally talked to me today. Even though her hair is so silky and red, her skin is so soft and white, her eyes are so blue, she has no color. No light. Her face doesn’t change; neither does her voice. Monotone and monochrome. Miss Giddy checks on her during lessons and music practice. Toast makes a show of ignoring her, but we all know she’s worried. We’re all worried. Not that this worry is any different than any other day here, but the Old Smeg will come tonight. For her. And we don’t know how she’ll react. How he’ll react. Miss Giddy’s fussing over her right now, dressing a piece of meat up in perfect hair and perfect lips and powdery skin and blushing cheeks. It makes my heart hurt. Every time.

            I learned about the conservation of mass and energy today. Nothing can be created or destroyed. Everything just changes form. I like to think that means we get stronger as the Old Smeg gets weaker. And he does. They may not see it, but I do. It’s funny, but I think that’s part of why I’m his favorite. It’s because I see him for what he really is and he knows it. I see him for the broken, dying man he is and I keep quiet. The Dag and Toast spit it in his face every chance they get. Miss Giddy’s iron eyes, the way she looks at him, must _burn_ him. But I don’t do any of that. I stroke his ego. I am Splendid because I am quiet. Maybe he should rename Capable Splendid, because she’s quieter than me. I can be Lilith.

 

Day 369:

            Capable didn’t even cry. The Old Smeg hit her to try to get a rise out of her (we could hear it from downstairs), but she _didn’t even cry._ She just sat in the impluvium while Miss Giddy cleaned her off and dressed her bruises. We were all amazed. Even _I_ cried the first few times, and the worst he did to me was hold me down hard enough to leave bruises. Even after I cut my face he didn’t hit me. Miss Giddy sent Capable to bed, telling her she’d done well. I love Miss Giddy dearly, but nobody should have to say that. Capable and I share a room. I sat with her a while, just talking, because Miss Giddy did that with me and it helped distract me from the ache in my guts and the storm in my head. She held my hand and smiled at me. It made my heart sing.

            I learned about gemstones today. They are crystals, made of purer minerals than regular stones. They come in all colors. In the Before, people used to cut them out of the earth and wear them as jewelry. Miss Giddy showed us pictures of them in a book. My favorite is ruby. Like Capable’s hair.

 

Day 387:

            Our new sister Cheedo the Fragile cries and whimpers enough for herself and for Capable’s missed sobs. But now I know why the Old Smeg named her Capable. She is the only one that can calm Cheedo’s shakes. Her hands are steady, her voice is low and kind, and now there is a light in her eyes. It’s warm and bright and I hate myself for how jealous I get when she shines that light on Cheedo. The young girl needs it, I know, but I _want_ it. I want that lighthouse shine on me. I want that whispered _be still, be still_ to move through me. Capable spends most nights in Cheedo’s room, curled up with her on her bed. I can’t sleep. I don’t know where this feeling is coming from. I don’t know why my heart kicks against the front of my chest when I think of her. I don’t know what she did or what I did to make me feel this way, but it’s delicious and terrible.

            I tried to learn today, but I couldn’t focus on anything Miss Giddy was teaching us. Not while Capable was there beside me. She looked at me and smiled and her eyes and her ruby hair set me on fire and I forgot everything but the feeling of her filling the chambers of my heart. But I suppose I did learn something today: I’ve fallen for her. For Capable, for the Ruby that catches the sunlight and bathes me in red.

 

Day 391:

            My menstrual cycle is late. I prayed that the Old Smeg would be too sick to actually do it, but I suppose whoever I prayed to wasn’t listening. Not that I prayed particularly hard. Capable (she’s Ruby now, my jewel, even though I still haven’t told her how much she shines) looks at _me_ now with those lighthouse eyes. The eyes that search out pain and the comforting red warmth that’s velvety like blood and heals. She’s red like a bloodbag, healing like a bloodbag, only she doesn’t even have to open her veins to me. All she has to do is look at me and I’m healed and whole and complete. I don’t know if any of this is making sense but I have to get it out of my head. I can’t tell anyone else. Miss Giddy would understand, wouldn’t say anything, but I just can’t bring myself to get it out. I’m frightened, I suppose. I’m frightened that if I say something, things will change. Capable hasn’t given any indication that she feels anything towards me. I understand now that what I thought was emptiness before is actually a well of quiet strength. She doesn’t scream and bite like the Dag or swing punches like Toast, because she knows she doesn’t have to. Her weapon isn’t her fists or teeth or voice. It’s patience. It’s _be still._ The Old Smeg can roar and bluster and storm at her all he wants, but she will not bend. I love that he can’t get a read on her, but neither can I. After I finish this entry I’m going to curl up in bed with her. I can’t not. I need her. Maybe my hand in hers or my head on her shoulder will say the words I can’t.

            I learned about pregnancy today. It’s going to be difficult. But as long as I have my Ruby, things will be okay.

 

Day 403:

            Good news and bad news. Bad news first. The Dag pissed the Old Smeg off a few days ago. He wanted Cheedo, but the Dag lashed out. Today he brought us _gifts._ They are leather and steel and _toothed_. I can’t imagine whose schlanger he’s guarding us against. Rictus’s? That’s why Bag of Nails is here. This _thing_ cuts into my legs and hips. I saw a picture of a cow in a book with a tag clipped to her ear. The Old Smeg has tagged us again. The brand wasn’t enough. Now we can’t even _move_ for remembering exactly who owns us. He never leaves us now. His fingers still pinch our thighs and his hungry mouth is now chained to us. I hate this. We are cattle. We are property. We are things.

                        WE ARE NOT THINGS                                                                                                                                                      WE ARE NOT THINGS

                                                                                                                                    WE ARE NOT THINGS

 WE ARE NOT THINGS

                                                                                                             WE ARE NOT THINGS                                          WE ARE NOT THINGS

                  WE ARE NOT THINGS

                                                           WE ARE NOT THINGS

                                                                                                                                           WE ARE NOT THINGS

 

Day 404:

            I got angry. I had to walk away. But I feel better. We still have to wear these horrible rape-axes, as Toast calls them, but my Ruby loves me. That’s the good news I meant to write about yesterday. When I found out I was pregnant, I came to Capable’s bed and she held me. She whispered _be still_ to me and kissed me and everything was okay. I’d write about what else we did, but I’m blushing too much. I have a feeling Miss Giddy reads this at night when we’re all asleep. Capable and I couldn’t really do what we most _wanted_ to do because of our belts and when we tried our fingers bled. I wonder if the Old Smeg will notice. If he’ll know what it means. I hope he does.

            I learned about Capable today. I learned that her favorite fruit is pomegranate. I learned that she can touch her tongue to her nose. I learned that she has cried every night since she got here. Even when I was with her. I learned that she smiles every morning when she wakes up. Only when I’m there.

 

Day 439:

            Every time the Old Smeg comes for Capable I want to rip his guts out. She’s not _yours,_ filthy schlanger _._ She belongs to nobody but herself.  She comes home to me. We dry each other’s tears. She touches my scars and says they’re the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. We whisper the words together: we are not things. And we’re getting out. The Dag has a picture from the Before. The colors are faded but it’s a picture of a green place. We’re going there as soon as we can, and we’ll raise my baby there. It’ll grow up between lush green and ruby red, and we’ll all be happy.

            I learned how to shoot a gun. Miss Giddy only had three bullets, so we couldn’t actually shoot anything. But we learned how to hold the gun and fire. Toast helped Miss Giddy teach us. The rifle felt heavy and dead and cold in my hands. I didn’t like it. I don’t like it. Capable doesn’t either. We lie together and make promises to each other. We write the words on each other’s minds: We Are Not Things.

 

Day 522:

            I haven’t written in a long time because we’ve been planning. Bag of Nails knows of a real green place and she’ll take us there. My baby is growing. Capable sings to it. It’s quiet and still whenever she’s around. I’m quiet and still too. Capable can quiet me and drive me wild at the same time. I never knew that was possible. Her lips carry calming words, _be still, be still_ , and electric touches against my neck. Her hands make me forget about his hands. She touches my brand and erases it. I’m not his anymore. I’m not hers. She’s not mine. We are gemstones; we are jewels. We are ruby, emerald, sapphire. We are diamond. We are all diamond, the strongest stone there is. Stronger than any steel he can throw at us. We are too valuable to be owned.

            I learned about our plan today. Bag of Nails is going to kill the guards. I didn’t want her to, but there’s no other way. We made her swear to no unnecessary killing. We’re going to start a new life in the green place, and we can’t do that with blood on our hands. That’s his way. Not ours. We’ll hide in the war rig and she’ll take us to the green place. He’ll think we’re going on a supply run.  We just have to wait for the right time.

 

Day 547:

            We’re leaving tomorrow night. This is the last time I’m going to write. I wish I could take this journal with us, but Bag of Nails won’t let me. We can’t have anything weighing us down. Capable is here with me. She says hi. I hope whoever finds this can read it. I’m sorry the letters are so shaky. If it’s the Old Smeg, ha, joke’s on you. We’re gone, and now you have nothing. The one you call Angharad is beloved, but not by you. A woman with fiery hair and ocean eyes loves me, and raises me up so much higher than you ever could. We will flourish without you. All of us… the Dag, the Knowing, the Ruby, the Splendid… even little Fragile, who doesn’t understand this yet. She will, and she’ll bloom in the green place like we never let her bloom for you.

            I’m going to bed now, going to bed, to Capable’s hands and eyes and voice and touch and whispered words of forever and green and ruby, ruby red.


End file.
